


Babystep

by Blanketempress



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, WELL HERE YOU GO, a lil asshole but good at heart, if someone ever wondered how Daze used to be as Sidestep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 18:39:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19256920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blanketempress/pseuds/Blanketempress
Summary: How Daze met the Rangers, while freezing their butt outside. Then they get shot, go "I'm fine" so they go train, just to get their ass handed. The end. It's fluff if you don't look too close at the scene of self surgery.





	1. By a cold, snowy day

The night is cold, too cold for snow to fall anymore.

You stumble through the streets, jog a bit to keep yourself awake and warm, trying to avoid people as much as you can. The buzzing of their minds is giving you a headache, it's one of these days when you wish you could just unplug your brain.

Sleeping outside by night is out of the question with this cold but you still sit down near the heating system between two buildings, trying to catch some rest before you go wandering around again. Your legs are barely supporting you, through the exhaustion of the past fights. Just today you managed to take down three men on your own, including one boost, escaping right before the Rangers actually arrived. It fills you with a weird warmth to think back of it, pride makes the cold almost bearable. You rub your hands together and close your eyes a second, dozing off despite yourself. That's bad. You should get back up and keep walking. Maybe find a 24/7 to stay at for a while or an empty apartment easy to break into.

Before you manage to convince yourself to get back up you hear some footsteps, and pick up some waves of concern from someone's mind. You sigh and crack an eye open, meeting some very blue uniforms. You stay still, staring for maybe a bit too long.

“Are you alright? It's too cold to be out tonight, do you need a ride to somewhere warm?”

You almost don't hear them, brain turning too fast. Rangers.

“Oh wait, it's you isn't it? The new vigilante!” That makes your flight instinct activate, had you not been sitting, with one ranger on each side, you would try to make a run for it. But there's no hostile intent from the bubbly young ranger as they continue. Anathema, you've seen them in the news. “You helped us big time with these guys! Three armed men with hostages, that would have been a pain in the ass to deal with.”

Your eyes wander to the other one, Charge, as you picked in the medias. Contrary to his colleague he's completely unreadable. Even people who know how to hide their thoughts have a presence, some kind of surface thoughts. He doesn't. As if there was no one standing there.

“Now calm down, Themmy” he says, and you really can't tell what this smile on his face is for “You're going to frighten them.” he turns to you and has a weird almost bow as he introduces himself “I'm Ortega, Ricardo Ortega, but you probably know me as Charge. You did some great job back there, kid, ever thought of becoming a Ranger?”

Anathema laughs “You're the one who's going to make them run!”

You get up cautiously, gripping on your bag to give yourself some anchor. You try not to put too much weight on your left, you just bandaged your leg, but it's far from healed. “I'm Daze. Daze Becker.” That name feels strange every time you say it. Strange but good. You give them a half smile “And uh, thanks, I guess?” The praise feels so heartfelt and enthusiastic, from the both of them, it makes you warm up in no time and you feel a blush come to your face.

“I've seen the way you fight, Daze, you're really good” Charge looks right back at you when you stare at him, his eyes and smile so very warm. “I'm serious about the Rangers, you could try out the entrance tests, we always need some help.”

You hesitate, tempted to take it like a joke but he looks serious “I'm not too good at teamwork” That's a lame excuse though it's true.

That whole meeting feels so weird, so unreal.

You wish you could join them. You wish you could be one of these shiny protectors of the city. But you know it will never be. You lean back on the wall to support your own weight. Fainting in front of these people would be the worst. Charge seems to notice and immediately scans you from head to toes.

“Are you hurt? Did you get shot back there?”

“It's alright, I took care if it.” Your shrug brings a frown on his face “It was just a scratch really... I got lucky. I bandaged it and cleaned it up, tomorrow it'll be as good as new.”

It was a tactical choice. Distract the men's attention from the hostages then try to dodge their bullets. It was a very stupid choice that forced you to chose between a bullet in the chest or one in the leg.

They exchange a look. You should be good at this, lying isn't half as hard as telling the truth.

“Well, since you helped us out more than once, I'm pretty sure that there are a few bounties and rewards that you earned to your name. And if you have medical bills, we can arrange a few paperworks to have them cleared.” Charge sees you hesitate and so he smiles “We also have coffee and donuts back at the headquarters, if you don't have any plans.”

You fidget a bit with your bag. Money is running short, you have to admit. Legal money would be a great change. Coffee and food always look good, though you're not so desperate for food or drinks. Also it's _Charge and Anathema_ looking back at you in anticipation.

“Sure... Sure, why not.”

  
  


This was a bad idea.

The lights hit you hard and you almost ran when you realized that you had to go through the scanners, only accepting that nothing about you triggered them when you sat down at a table in a small staff kitchen, a mug of coffee in front of you, Charge going through an impressive pile of paperworks as promised. Anathema on the other hand keeps staring at you and you can hear their thoughts just as clear as if they were talking.

They're trying to guess if you are boosted or moded and what kind of abilities would either of these give you to fight so good. Seeing yourself in their mind is so very easy. There's no judgment for this crappy looking person, who looks like a rabbit stuck in front of the lights of an incoming truck. Bits of fights play at the back of their mind, making you look kind of mysterious but, you have to admit, much cooler than you really are. You are not certain if it fills you with pride or if you find it very inconvenient to have been found out so fast.

You're not paying too much attention to the chat, focusing on your coffee. Now that you're inside you realize just how cold you were. Finding an empty flat with functional heating looks like a necessity by now.

“Alright, I did the math and that's what you should be entitled for, if you come back in a few days, we'll have that ready for you.” Charge hands you a bunch of papers, one of them with a number in a corner. You blink in surprise when you read it, making him laugh. “You took down a few huge bounties, you know? It might be kind of hard to prove that you were the one who did it but we've got a couple pictures here and there, if no one looks too close into it, it should be fine.”

Pictures. Now that's bad. You know that some journalist managed to snap pictures of you, but you hoped that no one in a place of power would get their hands on these.

“So how'd you get into vigilante stuff, Daze?” Anathema's determination to find out who and what you are is almost overwhelming. There's no ill intent behind the questions, though you still hate these. “You didn't come to get the bounties” they point out.

It is rather strange, isn't it. That someone would do all this for free. Get shot for the glory. You shrug “Well it kind of happens by accident, you know... I was there when things happened so I tried to do something.”

“Oh? You're going to make our statistics on public safety get in the red if you can cross so many criminals' path just by walking around.”

The tone is light and you can tell it's just a joke, no one is waiting for a real reaction from you. So you laugh and turn back to your coffee. Sitting here, at the Rangers' headquarters, with not one but _two_ of the town's legends feels so unreal. It makes a thousand ideas pop through your head, dangerous ones, unrealistic ones. What if you joined? What if you tried to help more closely?

If you could be someone, anyone, why not become a hero?

You grab a pastry and chew on it very slowly to avoid being questioned. Why not indeed.

 


	2. Guess who just got SHOT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self surgery is in this one - Set two months after chapter 1

You've been shot. Again.

Working with teammates is definitively not your forte, they distract you more than they help you out. You trained for this, for longer than you want to remember. Still you get overwhelmed when you have to keep an eye on them all, keeping them on check and making sure that they are not running into an unforeseen danger.

You managed to hide the hole in your suit, but you can feel blood dripping inside, running down on your skin. Light headed. Not good. It could have damaged a vital organ but instead you're just going to either sew yourself back in time, or slowly bleed to death.

The fighting has not stopped just yet but you manage to sneak away from the action. You focus on your feet, on putting one in front of the other, getting away as fast as your wobbling legs can get you. Without a hero suit to make you stand out, you can go through some empty street and try to catch a cab, try to get back to your hideout. There's a small voice at the back of your head that argues that a hero suit could have been bulletproof, if not too inconspicuous. You shut it off. Too expensive, too flashy.

Your legs finally give up under your weight when you try to get down a couple stairs and you lie there for a while, contemplating whether it was worth it to risk yourself like that, to die alone in a gutter.

A hand pressed on your side, you manage to sit up. You're not passed out yet. Good.

This should be far enough from the action to be safe. You reach into one of your too many pockets, get a first aid kit out. First aid and second, you have to say. It did occur to you that you might one day get too hurt to reach your place, so you had to be ready.

First, painkillers. It's still going to hurt like a bitch, you have to feel things and be conscious for this. Getting the bullet out has to wait until the last moment, else the bleeding would just worsen for nothing, but it's really tempting to pull it out already, like an old scab.

You grit your teeth, annoyance piercing through the dizziness. How could you be so stupid. It was just a bullet, the rangers can deal with these, you can't.

But what if it hurt someone badly?

Don't think, just focus. After a while the pain dissipates. It's still there but you feel numb. Don't move, that'll just make the bleeding worse. You get a tweezer, some alcohol and a needle to apply stitches where need be. Getting the bullet out takes you most of your will power. Digging into the open wound, metal cutting through exposed flesh. You gasp, panting and sweating. Even without the pain and dizziness it would have make you sick to watch. It rolls on the ground, in a pool of blood and you have to stop, trying to breath evenly, trying to chase the shiny spots and darkness growing at the corner of your eyes.

Stitches. Needle digging through the skin, over and over. One point. Two. One point. Two. Repeat.

It takes you forever. You're covered in sweat and blood, barely conscious, very tempted to just chug on the whole pack of painkillers. That would at least be a painless way to go, to just fall asleep and never wake up, rather than to get back up, try again, try to heal.

Minutes tick, you stay still on the ground until you hear some heavy footsteps, that you'd recognize now a hundred feet away, and it gives you enough of a rush of adrenaline to stand, weakly. Just enough time to hide your bandaged wound.

Steel approaches while you fumble to put your kit back together, towering over you in his monster of an armor. If his mind is usually hard to reach, his suit makes it impossible to guess what's going on in there but you suspect that you leaving the battlefield did not go unnoticed.

“You are injured.”

Ah. So it's the good old, “we don't leave anyone behind”. You shrug and smile, cursing yourself for taking your mask off so soon, revealing just how pale you are, how weak you look. “I got worse.” you reply weakly, trying to sound reassuring despite the blood at your feet and on your hands. You know full well he won't bite. “I was just taking a break. Catching my breath and all...”

His staring would usually be enough to make you tremble out of stress, if you were not already trembling from pain, exhaustion and bloodloss. You manage to get up, he keeps staring while you try to get away.

His suit is not supposed to be fast, not made to be gentle, but when you finally fall he still managed to catch you in time. Gently. You try to escape his grip but each move threatens to re-open your wounds so you let him, only whimpering in protest when he actually lifts you and carries you back to the warehouse, making you look like a child in the large robotic arms of his armor.

You barely register what's happening around you. The fighting stopped, you don't see what shape the others are, nor your enemies but you do hear Anathema's voice and the buzzing of worried thoughts as they run to you. Just keeping your eyes open is an effort, you try to mumble that you're fine but nothing comes out so instead you raise a hand in a thumbs up and almost hit your face with it when you try to lower your mask back. If you're going to die in Steel's arms like that, no need for the reporters that are probably swarming outside to get a clear picture.

Time passes very strangely. You're almost out of the warehouse, Ortega and Anathema are nowhere in sight, probably ran somewhere else. You raise your head painfully “I'm fine. Steel, put me down.” You tap his armor to try to make your point clear.

“No offense Sidestep, but you're literally covered in blood. You probably need stitches.”

“Already did that.” you grumble, very unhappy. “Need sleep, that's all. Put me down, please.”

There's a very faint sigh, probably inaudible without the microphone in his suit translating it to a static noise. “Sure, if you can stand.”

A minute of struggle later you are back in his arms, hating every second of it. So weak, inefficient, broken, useless. “If you send me to a hospital, I'll break out and run.” you warn, not caring if he hears. Diverting the medics' attention and assuring them that you are indeed alright should be easy but it would still be a bother, and really tiering.

You close your eyes again, groaning as a sharp pain stabs through your stomach out of the blue, making you curl up a bit. Outside there are reporters and flashes as expected, and you probably hate this more than Steel himself, who just crosses through the crowd without effort.

He puts you on the ground like a potato bag “I'm getting back inside to secure the perimeter. Some henchmen are still there, it's not safe. You stay here and wait for the medics.” You smile and nod, already thinking of how you're going escape. “You wait here, Sidestep.” he insists on this cold, commanding tone of his and for a second you wonder if he can read thoughts too.

As soon as he turns back to the building however, a very unexpected event prevents you from escaping like you planned, in the shape of a swarm of reporters. There's only half a dozen of them, surrounding you and asking questions you have trouble focusing on. You lift up the scarf of your makeshift suit to your face, trying to hide all of your face while flashes keep burning your retina.

Nothing makes sense, their thoughts feel like a torrent in spring, as if they did not know themselves what they want to hear or ask. You really wish you could just pass out but the deep terror that settled in your guts is keeping you afloat. Finally the medics appear, shooing these vultures away and rushing you in the welcome private space of the ambulance.

It doesn't take much effort to divert their attention, make them think that they ran all the tests necessary and saw how superficial your wounds were. “You still need some rest.” one of them say, and you can't disagree with that “We'll stay here until the Rangers show up, I suspect we might get more work.”

Waiting isn't too bad. You manage to shut down people's thoughts, shut down the throbbing pain. There's a crushed energy bar in one of your pockets, that probably did not really like that moment when you were thrown against a wall. So someone else would not be. This is such a stupid way of thinking. The rangers are much more durable than yourself. Anathema is invincible, Steel is literally a walking armor, Sentinel can divert almost anything going his way and Charge would get back up and say he's fine even after getting hit by a truck. Stupid, dangerous, inefficient. It has to be corrected.

“Someone's looking gloomy!” Anathema pokes their cheerful face into the ambulance, and seeing no signs that they shouldn't come in, invites themselves in. You smile despite yourself. “Glad to see you looking half alive, you got us worried back there.”

You shrug, trying to divert the worry by being dramatic. It usually works. “I lost at least five liters of blood and I'm at the gates of death. But I have snacks so that's alright!” It gets you a laugh, but the worried look doesn't fade. “I'm good, hit my head a bit, ran out of juice too fast. Can't wait for today to be over, though.”

“You tell me.” There's a laugh but a glimpse of worry, that's replaced by attention when the actual police finally leaves the scene, taking today's catch to custody. “Ortega got the medias' attention, I'll ask the medics if they can get us a ride back at the headquarters!”

The ride is uneventful, Anathema's chatter keeps you afloat and you actually feel much better once you reach the headquarters.

Then you try to get up.

It takes you a good ten minutes to get out of the ambulance, and this time you don't fight when you get pushed to a break room, half forced to at least sit down. “We'll keep you updated on the reports, don't vanish this time!” Anathema says before running to the debrief. Of course you're going to sneak away. Later.

For now you stay still, too dizzy, too weak. Lying down doesn't seem such a bad idea.

You wake up a few times, just conscious enough to tell the various unwanted visitors to mind their own business and that yes, you're doing _just fine_. It's night time when you get the urge to leave again. It's kind of surprising really, that you would allow yourself to stay this long in the first place, but now the what ifs are stronger than this sense of peace and security.

Feet on the ground, get up. You don't fall. Good. Your breath is even and though the pain is still there, you manage to ignore it.

As if he somehow sensed that you were about to vanish, there's a knock on the door and Ortega walks in. Bringing in some food and an almost sheepish look on his face. It's not too hard to understand and you sigh. Guilt. Because you got hurt, and somehow he thinks it's his job to keep everyone safe.

“Hey, how are you holding up?”

“I'm on the verge of dying as you can see. Thinking of what to write on my tombstone, got any ideas?”

He doesn't laugh but his smile tells you he's at least a tad reassured and won't be too insufferable. “I brought you something to eat, you have to get some strength back.”

“Did you make that?”

He nods, not without a hint of pride. “Leftovers are nicer than take overs, from time to time.”

You're starving and weakened, and it smells delicious, your body almost doesn't wait for your brain's approval to go sit down at the table and start eating. “You sure know how to keep me around, huh?”

This time the smile is genuine and he sits in front of you while you devour the plate, getting only hungrier as you do. His eyes are stuck on you but you manage to ignore it while the food lasts, finding it uncomfortable only once you're done stuffing your mouth and actually start eating like a civilized person.

“It's delicious” You say, between two forkfuls. “You'll have to teach me someday.”

“Cooking lessons? All you have to know is that the power comes from within your heart.”

You snort and he smiles, but that doesn't wash the guilt from his face. It's actually unnerving to look at.

“I just miscalculated a bullet's trajectory, alright? It won't happen again.” You look away, too awkward to find better excuses.

“Oh? I thought that you were always one step ahead of people?”

The tone is teasing but you still cringe. “I miscalculated.” you repeat. “Look, I know where my mistakes were, I will fix that. I need to adapt to this whole team-work thing, it's still very new to me. I'll do better next time.”

“Hold on, are you really beating yourself over _getting shot_? It's not really the kind of things you have control over!” He stops and frowns for a second, as if asking himself “is it?” but he does not say it outloud.

“Well, then why are you beating yourself over me getting shot?” Food is gone but you're still hungry, drawback of using too much mind powers and losing too much blood. That, and this whole “I'm concerned about you Sidestep” business is making you a bit cranky. “I'm fine, it was really not that bad. I stitched it, it's not even bleeding anymore.”

“Stitched it?”

You open your mouth and decide to shove an energy bar in it rather than answer, cursing yourself internally for letting that detail slip out.

Ortega gives out a sigh. He very rarely looks his age, or older for the matter, but in that moment he seems to have aged a couple decades and you have troubles understanding what you should feel about this whole situation. Guilt? Anger? Why are you flustered then. You look away.

“It's fine, I've had worse. Really.”

“Well that's not very reassuring.” His laugh sounds very bitter. You cannot tell why. All of the sudden, there's a light in his yes, quite literally that comic books light bulb that just tilted in his head. “Maybe you could join us to train. Knowing each other's fighting style helps working as a team.”

“That's... Actually a good idea.” It crossed your mind already. Training to learn the fighting styles of the Rangers could save your ass later, even if you're not part of the team you do tend to work together more and more. The man looks way too smug when you agree however, like he won a bet or something.

This is a look you will learn not to trust later on.

 


	3. In which Daze gets their ass handed by their future crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's just dumb fluff - Set one month after chapter 2

You get slammed on the ground much harder than you would have liked. Your shoulder hurts and all your muscles are so raw, you are going to be sore tomorrow but you're not ready to give up. You get back up, attacking before Ortega gets back on his guard and this time he's the one thrown down. Fighting blind is unnerving, though you were trained for it too.

The sparring has been going on for a good hour now but for each point he scores, you manage to beat him back. Anathema did keep track of the score for a while then vanished somewhere else when they understood that it would take forever to settle. Others passed through to take a look and you heard a few comments but you can't afford to look away from your opponent.

He keeps this huge stupid grin plastered on his face the whole time but you have a hard time reciprocating. It really _does_ hurt. But training is not over yet. You need to better yourself, understand his moves and be able to foresee them the way you would with anyone else's. So you grit your teeth and jump back up when he fails to wrestle you down.

This time you try to take him off balance, despite your previous fails. He's much heavier than you thought. Once again it does nothing and you're the one hitting the floor, arm in a lock, face down in the dirt.

“Giving up already?” he teases.

You don't answer. Eventually he loosens his grip and you go for a kick behind the knees. You two end up wrestling for a while, until a knee in the guts takes your breath away. That was terrible. You curl up, wheezing in pain, a hand on your fresh scar. Sure it was stupid to come train so soon, but you were not expecting him to be so rough.

“ _Mierda_... Daze I'm sorry.”

You see stars but when his worried face comes too close you manage to kick him in the chin, getting a satisfying “ow” out of him. More surprised than pained, you notice.

“That's cheating” he protests.

You huff and drop on your back again, staring at the ceiling while you try to catch your breath, a hand pressed on your side.

Anathema is obviously back and you hear them blurt out “I'm still giving the highest grade to Daze!”

You give them a thumbs up from where you're lying, snickering. They brought snacks, you notice. You're wet with sweat but there's no way you're dropping a single layer of clothing. You catch glimpses of thoughts, one especially that is rather harsh, tasting like a razor blade. Steel. It's not really aimed, not really fully formed but you feel his hostility like a stab. You keep staring at the ceiling for while.

“I'm a telepath.” You're the first surprised to hear yourself say that. “That's how I can tell where people are going to aim... Fists, bullets, knives... It's easy to dodge when you know when and where it's going to hit.”

You sit up. Steel's mind is now closed harder than an oyster, Anathema is trying to remember what they were thinking about before you said that, hoping it wasn't something embarrassing.

You sigh. “It's not _that_ powerful, I can't really get into people's mind... It's just touching the surface, I can only see what they are focusing on. It's uh- it's only efficient when people don't know that I can do that, so if that information could stay confidential that would be great.” That would save your life, too.

This is such a stupid decision, but it's strangely freeing to tell them. You trust these people. You want them to trust you. There's so much more you want to say, but for now it's better to keep acting. Keep pretending that there's nothing off with you.

Anathema is the first to react, a grin too large on their face “Hey, Daze! What am I thinking about now?”

You don't even need to focus, it's like someone is shoving it under your nose, even though they're sitting a few feet away. “You're thinking that telepathy is dope and... Alright, I didn't want to see that.”

There's a cackle and this time you manage to block their thoughts before the situation gets out of hand. You turn to Ortega and give him a smile. “I can't read yours, that's quite rare. I've met a few people like you already, though.”

He cocks his head. “So that's how you know things are going to happen before they happen, huh? That's handy.” There's no hostility in his voice or on his face, just curiosity, much like Anathema's. This lack of negative reaction is so strange, you feel almost lightheaded, happy butterflies in your stomach and a grin on your face. “How long did you have these powers?” This makes you crash down faster than a bucket of iced water.

“A few years.” Not a lie. Not the truth. Everything is catching up to you at once, just from that one completely legitimate question, butterflies turning into lead weights. They would not be so friendly and understanding if they knew everything.

Thankfully Ortega does not insist.

He gets up and offers his hand. You should take it, right? He helps you up, which feels very weird and you take a step back awkwardly, tugging on your sleeves to cover your hands. Touches always linger way too long on your skin.

“Well that was fun.” You hope the change of conversation will catch “We should train together again!”

“Yeah, you two should!” Shutting off Anathema's thoughts was probably wise.

Ortega looks delighted, which makes you strangely happy.

You shouldn't have tell them about the telepathy thing. Shouldn't have gotten this close. But you can't say you regret it just yet. You almost forget about Steel, sitting arms crossed next to Anathema, staring at you a bit too intently, as if trying to crack you open with his own mind.

 


End file.
